


The Spectral Ravishing

by remembertowrite



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Character Development, Complicated Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, During Canon, Extremely Cursed Rarepairs, F/F, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembertowrite/pseuds/remembertowrite
Summary: While moving out of Alex's place, Amalia comes across "The Spectral Ravishing" by one Emily Dumont, PhD, and can't put the book down. Lucky for her, Nic knows the author.Or: Exploring Amalia's relationships, from the girl she left behind in Russia, to her hot mess of an ex-girlfriend Alex Reagan, to the sweet roommate with benefits Nic Silver, to the intriguingly clairvoyant and sensual writer Emily Dumont.Set mid-season 2, about 205 to 209. Fits in with canon.
Relationships: Amalia Chenkova/Emily Dumont, Amalia Chenkova/Nic Silver, Amalia Chenkova/the girl she left behind in Russia, Past Amalia Chenkova/Alex Reagan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	The Spectral Ravishing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Extremely Cursed Rarepairs challenge on the Black Tapes relisten discord. This ship was generated on my dumb ship generator (https://pnwssoundboard.imfast.io/#/ship-generator), and when I saw it I immediately fell in love with it.

Amalia slowly turns the lock and opens the door, hoping it will spare her its creakiness for tonight. It’s late, Alexandra barely sleeps, and she doesn’t want to talk to her. Her once dear friend has since sent her a sound file meant to kill the listener within a year of hearing it. Amalia’s not a suspicious person. Not really. But it was cruel of Alexandra.

Amalia can’t help but think Alexandra’s jealous of her spending all her time at Nic’s.

Getting involved with coworkers was a terrible, but inevitable, idea. Trading one ex’s home for another, maybe also not a good idea.

Amalia is nothing if not bold. She sees herself as living life on her own terms. She lives in the moment, thirsting for a story, for an experience. She wants to feel everything she can in this wide world. It’s why she’d come out to the States from Russia in the first place at such a young age. Her mother calls her fickle. Amalia considers herself brave and adventurous. Maybe.

Avoiding a conflict with an insomniac ex is not like her. She would have no problem calling out Alexandra at any point. But it’s… _complicated,_ as Nic would say. As any of Nic’s very mysterious friends would say.

Amalia is, perhaps, a touch superstitious after all. And Alex has been hissing demonic nothings in her sleep. Better to be out of that situation. Better to gather her things in the dead of night and make the move to Nic’s more permanent.

The door thankfully stays silent as it swings open and shuts behind her. The simple two-bedroom is dark, and it’s any wonder Alexandra has had trouble sleeping. Even Amalia can see the outlines of demons in this cursed home.

She wanders into the living room on quiet feet, notices the lack of keys on the key ring, and collapses into the couch. Seems like Amalia isn’t the only one who has fled the shadowy corners of this apartment for a warm bed with a warm body to rock her to sleep. Amalia’s got no right to judge.

She’s just concerned, is all. Strand is a dangerous man, as is his wife. Amalia’s no fool. She’s heard the rumblings. He’s a tornado tearing through Alexandra’s life, and there’s nothing Amalia can do to save her, lest she herself be sucked into the vortex.

Amalia sits up on the couch, observes the books strewn out on the mess that is Alexandra’s coffee table. A leather-bound volume that looks like it belongs to Strand, several on ancient Sumerian, a red rope binder of files and files. Under the coffee table, half-obscured under a well-worn copy of _Field Guide to the Paranormal_ by a Dr. Emily Dumont, lies the intriguingly named _The Spectral Ravishing_. So Alexandra’s taken her work into the bedroom, even. Not a surprise considering her taste in men.

Amalia pulls the book from under the stack of others, brushes the flecks of dust off the cover. This one’s also by Emily Dumont, who, the cover boasts, is Amazon’s best-selling author in ghost erotica (of course that’s a genre, of course it is).

Amalia splays open the spine of the book like a wanting thing and thumbs vigorously through the pages, expecting a laugh in the vain of _50 Shades_ , but surprising herself with the beauty of the prose, _his luminescent hands reflecting the moonlight, ghosting along Maria’s milky thighs with the pained desire of a man a hundred years dead_. She can practically feel the translucent hands approaching her own core, desire curling into the base of her abdomen. _Oh_.

She snaps the spread pages shut and sets it back on the coffee table. She retreats to the guest bedroom to gather her last few things from Alexandra’s apartment, and makes to leave.

But Emily Dumont, PhD, has enchanted her, for a witch has magicked _The Spectral Ravishing_ into the bag of Amalia’s things as she leaves the apartment.

_Stay well, Alexandra_ , she wishes as she locks the door, knowing that her wish will never come true. But if Alexandra is dragging herself down to hell, Amalia doesn’t have to go with her.

###

“What are you reading, babe?” comes Nic’s slight sweet voice in her ear. His golden curls tickle her neck; his hair’s almost longer than hers at this point. He nuzzles into her with his bare smooth skin on her right, and True Companion sticks her wet little dog nose into Amalia’s armpit on her left. Nic is a desperate sweetie in relationships; it’s what’s drawn Amalia to him time and time again. He lacks the sharp beauty and exhilarating edges of Alexandra’s personality, which is what she needs right now.

“Mmm, some book I found at Alexandra’s before, well,” she murmurs, and Nic starts suckling at her earlobe, something she finds a bit off-putting.

“Yeah, baby?” Nic says, lost in her neck and edge of her earlobe. Her abdomen is increasing in heat but Nic is not the cause, not this time.

“I believe you met author once, yes?” she asks.

Nic pulls away from her neck and looks at her through droopy eyes. He’s high and horny and unchanging. Eighteen or 35, he has a rock solid sameness that proves there are some things in her life that don’t change.

“‘The Spectral Ravishing,’” he half-laughs in his mellow voice. “Oh yeah, Emily Dumont, she was a paranormal researcher we interviewed for like, the first episode.” He snorts. “Her writing is pretty garbage.”

Amalia pulls back and raises her eyebrow. “Sounds rather sexist you know.”

Nic gapes, rolls onto his back, and sighs, closing his eyes. “Amalia, it’s trash. It’s a waste of your time. Anything in _that_ genre is.” He opens his eyes and sticks his tongue out at her. She laughs.

“I want to meet her. Her prose is-”

He laughs in his charming way. “Yeah, yeah, sure, let me send her an email if you really want to hear it from someone who has, uh, interludes with spirits.”

She kisses him on the cheek. “Oh yes, I very much like this book.”

True Companion pokes her head up and licks her on the boob. Amalia smiles secretly, rubbing the furry heads of TC and Nic both. She feels safe, a little. Away from Alexandra and Strand and Russia and crushed between two giant puppies. It’s enough. To be safe here, away from the hell of the shadowy hallways of Alexandra’s apartment. It’s enough, for now.

###

A bell tinkles lightly as she scurries in to escape the rain and enter the cozy coffee shop, all charming worn-down wood, leather bound books lining cherry shelves, little yellow daisies peeking out of mason jars at each table. The rain outside and cozy hipster decor of yet another coffee place reeks of Seattle to her. Something in her bones, something she always thinks she will grow out of eventually, yearns deep and sweet for somewhere new. She’s been in one place for too long.

(Her mother called her flighty in her teenage years. Amalia thought of herself more as a nomad.)

She peers around the low-lit tables for a stout woman with short bangs and eyes Alexandra had once said were filled with the sparkle of a much younger person. Nic had described Dr. Dumont as “a little frumpy.” In this case, Amalia prefers Alexandra’s description. Not that she’s talked to Alexandra in a while. She misses her. A bit.

An unconventionally pretty woman in her late 30s waves at her from a corner table. Amalia meets her gaze, almost drawn to it magnetically. Dr. Dumont’s eyes do have that youthful sparkle Alexandra described, but also something deeper and more intriguing. A crackle of electricity in them. Appropriate, considering it’s like Amalia’s been struck by lightning and frozen in place.

“Amalia?” Dr. Dumont calls in a voice that is deep and rich like a red velvet cake. She beckons Amalia over, and Amalia strides intensely towards her in an unspoken challenge, like she’s resisting a vampire’s glamour or something. (Vampires! Alexandra is getting to her.)

All Amalia knows is that Dr. Dumont is unquestionably not straight.

“Hello, Dr. Dumont,” Amalia offers, sitting down across from Dr. Dumont at her chosen table. She’s drinking a black Americano in a small ceramic cup.

Dr. Dumont smiles at her, and Amalia could swear to whatever gods exist that those are bedroom eyes if she’s ever seen them.

“Just Emily, please.” Dr. Dumont looks her up and down in a silent moment. “I’m so delighted to meet a fellow lover of literature. Nic told me you were halfway through _The Spectral Ravishing_ in his email.”

“I finished it very quickly. It was wonderful, Dr. Dumont.” A side-eyed look from Dr. Dumont has her correcting herself. “I mean, Emily. You write so beautifully. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Dumont smiles. “That’s very sweet, thank you. I had a feeling I should be in Seattle. I am a little clairvoyant, as Nic may have told you.”

“Oh really?” Amalia challenges. The journalist in her refuses to take anything at face value. It can get in the way of relationships, sometimes.

Dr. Dumont laughs, loosening up. “I also had to be in town for a paranormal research convention, I spoke on a panel. I’m sure Nic told you I’m a professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana?”

Impressive. Dr. Dumont is certainly no stranger to pushing back and standing up for herself. Amalia can’t help but respect that. Standing her ground as a woman in the probably more male-dominated space of academia, demanding to be taken seriously. Amalia sees herself in Dr. Dumont, a little. She has never settled for softness or submission when persistence, determination, and courage can get her so much more. The world is Amalia’s to grasp, and she appreciates that Dr. Dumont seems to have reached a similar understanding.

“Yes. Very interesting. Your writing is what has enchanted me. Your prose is like something I haven’t read in a very long time.”

Amalia feels like she’s high off one of Nic’s weed brownies even though she’s completely sober. She’s not normally one to offer extreme compliments, but being in the same shared space with a woman as confident and accomplished as Dr. Dumont has her defenses down. The sparkle in Dr. Dumont’s eyes enthralls her.

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” Dr. Dumont says. “I certainly have a number of uninformed detractors when it comes to my writing, but it’s important work. It’s a gift I want to share with smart people like you.”

Amalia’s heart jumps into her throat. She can barely hear Dr. Dumont over the pounding of her own heartbeat.

“Can I get you a coffee, Amalia? It’s the least I can do for a fan who came all this way in the rain.” Dr. Dumont rises from her seat.

“Thank you,” Amalia says. Dr. Dumont strolls over to the counter, and though she is short, she projects so much confidence it is like she stands six and a half feet tall. If anyone should be buying coffee, Amalia should be buying it for Dr. Dumont.

Her phone buzzes in her leather jacket’s pocket. Amalia pulls it out and lights up the screen with a click of the home button.

_I’ll be home late. Give TC pats and dinner for me?_

She shouldn’t be surprised. Between Tanis and The Black Tapes, Nic has been burning the candle at both ends the last few weeks. He’s barely home anymore, either buried deep in dark web research or spending another night grabbing beers with a guy who has a possible lead. (He’s drunkenly staggered into the apartment enough times after one of these nights out that she’s come to doubt they are work related at all.)

And there listed under Nic’s message thread, sweet messages from Alexandra that have gone unanswered.

_Amalia, are you okay? I know I’m not around the apartment that much anymore, but I haven’t seen you in a while._

Alexandra’s been home so little that she hasn’t even noticed Amalia moved out. Alexandra is lost to Amalia, swallowed up whole by the ravenous black hole that is Dr. Strand’s life. Amalia wants to be there for her, but she has enough of a sense of self-preservation to not let herself get dragged down with Alexandra. After all, there is a reason Alexandra is an _ex_ -girlfriend.

“Everything okay?” Dr. Dumont asks. Amalia’s eyes shoot up to meet the good doctor’s.

“Ah, yes, just a message from my roommate about his dog,” she responds.

Dr. Dumont raises an eyebrow. “Roommate? I thought for sure you were Nic’s girlfriend.”

Amalia lets out an anxious half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m staying at his place. For now.”

Dr. Dumont settles into the seat across from her, skepticism etched on her face. Tellingly, Amalia fumbles through her words, so unlike her normal self.

“I don’t do well in relationships,” she admits, refusing to meet Dr. Dumont’s gaze. “My job can get risky. I left my last girlfriend because I did not want her to be in danger.” Then, she glances up to meet Dr. Dumont's. “A lot of people cannot cope with it.”

Dr. Dumont is leaning forward, her hands on the table to mirror Amalia’s own body language. She stares at Amalia like she’s a lion who’s spotted a limping gazelle on the savannah.

“I can empathize,” Dr. Dumont says. “My own work as a medium and paranormal investigator can be very dangerous, spiritually and physically.” The professor smiles at her, daring Amalia to meet her at her level. “I could show you some of my case files, if you like. They are back at my hotel, of course.”

If Dr. Dumont could hear Amalia’s heartbeat, the professor would think she was entering cardiac arrest.

“I have to admit I am intrigued,” Amalia concedes.

“So I was right when I heard the universe tell me you would prefer your coffee in a to-go cup,” laughs Dr. Dumont.

They gather their things from the seats and make their way toward the door. Amalia follows Dr. Dumont, unlocking her phone to send a text to TC’s dog walker.

_Lucy, could you come by and feed TC? Nic will not be back until late, and I expect I will not make it home tonight at all._

###

Emily’s quiet laugh jingles happily like little wind chimes on a summer evening. Amalia turns towards her on the bed, relishing the quiet peaceful moment as Emily runs her fingers though Amalia’s long blonde hair. Her naked limbs are tangled with Amalia’s. A sliver of morning sunlight from the space between the curtains bisects Emily’s grinning face.

“I have a curiosity,” Amalia says. Emily purrs her acknowledgment. “Was _The Spectral Ravishing_ at all a true story?”

Emily grins devilishly. “I have channeled some very… sensual spirits.” She frowns. “Naturally I would take offense if anyone asked if my professional work inspires my fiction, but honestly, life is sometimes stranger than fiction.” She laughs again. “For example, we’re laying in my bed and I don’t even have your phone number yet.”

Amalia smiles back, then reaches over to the nightstand and unlocks her phone, passing it to Emily.

“I travel much and change my SIM card often, so add your info to Telegram too,” Amalia advises.

“You mentioned that earlier,” Emily says, typing her information into the phone. Amalia notices how Emily adds a winky face to her contact name. Emily hits ‘Save’ on the Add Contact page and finds herself in Amalia’s list of contacts. “I see I’m not the only one who finds entertainment in using emojis.” Emily’s thumb hovers over ‘Dominika Volkov,’ whose name is followed by a series of heart-eye and kissy face emojis.

Amalia lets out an amused sigh. “Dominika is very gregarious person.”

Emily looks up at her with a knowing look. “Dominika, huh. Why does she sound like the one that got away?”

Amalia cups Emily’s cheek. “I haven’t talked to her in many months.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Amalia. I wasn’t expecting anything. What would it be, a long distance relationship from day three of knowing each other?”

Amalia kisses Emily, breathing her in like someone she’s missed for a long time.

“It’s okay, you can tell me about her,” Emily adds.

Amalia falls back into her pillow. Subconsciously, she clutches at her heart.

“I was working on story of political corruption in Russia. I was being followed and threatened. I didn’t want Dominika to get caught in the middle of it.”

“And that’s when you decided to come to Seattle?”

Amalia pulls her arm across her face, obscuring her eyes that are swelling with saltwater.

“I ran away. I am hiding,” she admits. She’s known Emily for approximately 14 hours and is spilling her deepest regret to her. It’s easy to be vulnerable with this sweet, self-possessed woman.

Emily ghosts her hands along her side and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses Amalia’s mouth, then forehead.

“I can feel it, Amalia. You’re meant to go back to her. I can feel the current of the universe pulling you back to Russia,” Emily whispers in her ear. “You’re meant to do important work there.”

Amalia raises her gaze to meet Emily’s striking, sparkling eyes. She really does have the most inspiring and beautiful eyes.

“Can I fuck you again before I do as universe wishes?” Amalia jokes.

Emily snorts with laughter, adorably. “Absolutely,” she quips back. “I want you to ravish me like an angry spirit.”

###

It takes a few weeks, but Emily’s words stick with her. _You’re meant to go back to her. I can feel the current of the universe pulling you back to Russia._ It becomes a mantra running through her head at every waking moment. She sleeps sandwiched between gentle TC and gentler Nic, but her body yearns for Dominika’s playful slaps on the arm, her sweet caresses, her loving touch. Each night she spends at Nic’s, the irrational side of herself tells her again and again that she is denying her destiny. That she’s hiding.

Amalia _is_ hiding. Emily saw through her so plainly and easily, it doesn’t matter if she’s clairvoyant or just particularly good at cold readings. Emily’s persistent voice in her head forces Amalia to finally find the courage she’s been missing.

She comes to an understanding with Alexandra. She talks to Nic. He’s the sweetest, most go-with-the-flow person she’s ever met. Of course he would understand.

“You’re always welcome here, Amalia,” he tells her with a light kiss on the cheek. TC licks at her ankles affectionately, reaffirming the message.

She starts packing her bags. She finds a lawyer to get the protection she needs to return to Russia. She books a one-way flight to Moscow. She sends Dominika a heartfelt email. If she can be emotionally vulnerable with Emily, then she certainly can be with the one person she loves more than anyone in the world.

She doesn’t cower anymore like a spooked cat peeking out from under the garden shed. She’s returned to her panther self.

Waiting in the international terminal at Sea-Tac, she pulls out her phone, maybe out of boredom, maybe because she feels called to.

_Thank you, Emily_ , she texts Emily. _You saw my future. I’m going back._

Emily responds almost immediately.

_I can feel it, Amalia. I can feel it with my fingers and my toes, and deep into my bones. You are going in the direction of your destiny._

_You are going to be okay._

It doesn’t matter if Emily is lying or telling the truth. Because Amalia has chosen to believe in herself.

She’s not hiding anymore.


End file.
